I'm happy and I have no idea what to do with that
Featuring some shitty chicken with artichokes
Ed note: I just finished writing this essay, read it over again, and almost deleted the entire thing. But it feels very true to where I’m at right now: it’s chaotic and confused and somewhat navel-gazing. So just be aware that I know what this sounds like. But maybe my knee-jerk reaction to even writing out this ed note (who even puts ed notes in a newsletter?!) just proves the problem I’m trying to work out here.
Lately, I’ve been having the sinking feeling that I have no idea what I’m doing anymore. I feel as if I’m living this part of my life on autopilot, with no real plan, no real direction, and no real idea about how to talk or write about it. For most of my career, I’ve made a living sharing the tougher parts of life—career changes, breakups, spates of shitty dates, long stretches of being single on my couch.
But now I’m in a relationship that makes me so happy I keep expecting to wake up from it. I started a new job on Monday that I’m *good* at and that I *love* to do. I’m living in the closest thing to a dream apartment I could imagine. And I am sometimes deeply unsettled by that, unsure of how to write about it, or, truly, even talk about it. It feels somewhat uncomfortable and embarrassing sometimes. (I actually finally understand the saying “an embarrassment of riches.”) I’ve reached the landing spot that I’d dreamed of most of my life, and I don’t know what to do with it.
Even just typing the above feels a little nutty to me. Here I am, writing about how uncomfortable it feels to be happy. But it’s not something that I’m used to. I keep getting all of these messages on my Instagram from readers and followers about happy I look. One woman said I was exuding a vibrance that she’d never seen from me in the 10+ years she’d been following me. I’ve never identified as vibrant. I’ve never seen myself as some kind of shimmering light that people are drawn to. I’m sometimes surprised by the fact that people are even interested in me, or reading my attempt to work through the whirlpool of my thoughts. And now that I’m (oh god plz forgive me for this) thriving, truly thriving, for the first time in my life, it feels gauche to be putting that out there.
That’s probably why I’ve been having such a hard time with this newsletter. Because, like I said, I feel compelled to write, but I can’t write about happiness, because it feels incredibly tacky, right? Or is it? Do I just have a fucked up notion of what is worthy to share? When I was alone or unhappy, it would sometimes make me feel really shitty to see how happy other people were. Other times it would be inspiring to me. I would never want to be the reason why people are feeling bad. But then again, is that taking too much responsibility for how people react to my writing? Am I giving myself way too much credit?
Ben is constantly telling me that I should just write and cook my recipes and the rest will fall into place. But I’m way too self-aware to do that sometimes. What I really want to be writing about is how difficult this phase of life that I’m in can sometimes be, but that feels self-indulgent, because there are so many terrible things that are going on in the world right now. Is it important for me to be going on about how I feel like I’m in an in-between phase of my life, where I feel like I have a husband, but he isn’t my husband yet, and I’m considering motherhood, but I also still call *my* mother when I have a question about where I might be able to find a jar of red peppers in the supermarket? I’m also acutely aware of numbers, and how things are performing, and how many of you are actually reading this. It drives me nuts, and I get jealous when I see how well other people are doing. Does that sound like someone who should be taking care of a child?
I don’t have any answers for this. I truly don’t. But maybe here is where I need to work all of this out?
All of that is to say that I supremely fucked up this week’s recipe. Well, it tasted good, but it wasn’t what it was supposed to be. The chicken pieces were too big. I didn’t have enough sauce. And then since I started a new job, I didn’t have time to make it again. So this recipe is for how it’s supposed to be, not how I actually cooked it. Full disclosure. And since what I cooked looked like shit, the picture looks like shit. This feels pretty true to where I’m at at the moment. I hope you enjoy it, and I hope it turns out better for you than it did for me.
As for our night, Ben went out to get me wine, and then had seconds, and he left the table full, and told me how fantastic it was. And that made me happy in that moment.
Maybe I’m never going to be fully satisfied. Maybe I’m always going to be uncomfortable in comfort. But maybe that’s not bad. Maybe it’s what keeps me going. Maybe contentment isn’t a destination that I’ve reached, but more like an upgrade to the car I’m driving. I can appreciate the comfort while realizing I’ll never be completely settled. Because, really, when you think about it, is anyone?
Chicken with Artichokes, Aunt Giustina’s Way
INGREDIENTS
For the cutlets
1 lb boneless, skinless, thin-sliced chicken breasts
1 1/2 cups plain breadcrumbs
1 1/2 cups plain panko
1/4 cup parmesan cheese
2 tablespoons garlic powder
2 tablespoons parsley
Salt and pepper, to taste
3 eggs
Olive oil
For everything else
3 onions, chopped
2 lbs mushrooms, brushed of dirt
1/2 cup sauce
2 cans artichoke hearts
INSTRUCTIONS
Pound the chicken cuts until they’re about 1/2 inch thick. Cut them into bite-sized pieces.
In one shallow bowl, add the plain breadcrumbs, panko, garlic powder, parmesan, parsley, salt, and pepper. Mix well. In another shallow bowl, scramble the three eggs.
Dip the chicken pieces in the egg, letting the excess drip off. Then dredge the piece in your breadcrumb mixture. Set aside on a separate plate.
In a large, shallow skillet, heat enough olive oil so that there is an even, 1/4 inch layer in the pan. (You may need to add more as you go.) Fry the cutlets, one side at a time, until golden brown and crispy. Set aside.
In a separate skillet, heat about 2 tablespoons of olive oil. Add in your onions and brown. Then, add in the mushrooms and sauce and stir.
Once the mushrooms are cooked (they won’t brown) add in the artichoke hearts. (You may want to cut them with a cooking scissor if the pieces are too big.) Cook unti ltender.
Add in your bite-sized pieces of chicken and stir well. Serve hot.
I feel as though I could have written this myself. Having made a living writing essays about heartbreak and body image issues and depression, I now find myself Happier Than Ever™️ and wondering if I have anything to even write about – and as for checking figures and feeling incredibly jealous of others’ relative success?! Tick, tick, tick.
If it’s any comfort to you though, my being petty and needing constant validation from my readers has had zero visible effect on my baby, who has just turned one and is DELIGHTED with himself.
MMM i think i'm going to attempt a gluten-free version this week